Page 76 of Serpent King's Prisoner

I chuckled. “You wish.”

“Then stop ogling me and get your ass out of bed,” she laughed. “I’m starving.”

I laughed with her, shaking my head, and shed my shirt to go to my dresser. I caught her checking me out as I glanced over my shoulder, then went back to digging up a t-shirt and sweats.

It was only then that it struck me how much I’d laughed with her. Even after what I’d put her through…she was constantly making me laugh, making herself crack up when she talked to me.

I loved seeing her smile light up her face.

And I would do anything to keep that smile on her face.

Even if it killed me.

Chapter Thirty-Five: Abby

The tremors in my legs hadn’t subsided, a lingering reminder of the raw intensity we’d just shared. Nathan hadn’t been gentle–he never was–but there was something different this time; a tenderness in his touch, a softness in his eyes that I wasn’t used to seeing in him. It left me feeling disoriented; I couldn’t afford to mistake whatever this was for something…more.

But it was easy when I saw him like that, stripped bare and vulnerable.

Keep it together, Abby, I muttered to myself as I steadied my shaky legs, trying to dispel the haze of pleasure clouding my thoughts. My mind raced with what needed to be done. Tyler, always a wildcard, needed to be contacted without delay. He might come knocking on my door and fuck everything up for me. He had a knack for complicating things, and right now, I couldn’t afford any slip-ups. And then there was Dad—I needed to see him first thing, reassure him, maybe even lean on him a bit if I dared to admit that need.

As long as it didn’t make him suspicious.

Or, even worse, make Nathan suspicious.

But first, my apartment. That burner phone hidden in the false bottom drawer was my lifeline, one that could unravel this precarious situation I found myself in. Nathan’s world, this treacherous web of loyalty, violence, and power, was no place for an FBI agent—especially not one who was starting to see her captor in a light that threatened her very mission.

I mean, none of this had been sanctioned. I had just fallen into it and had, by some miracle, managed to stay alive.

Focus, I told myself, ignoring the buttery softness of the sweater hugging my body. With each step, I felt the pull of the shorts that clung to my figure, a reminder that the line between Abigail Harper, the agent, and Abby, the woman entangled with a dangerous man, was blurring dangerously.

“Abby, you back with me?” Nathan’s voice, rough around the edges, pulled me from my thoughts. He was leaning against the frame of the closet door, clad only in a t-shirt and sweats that did nothing to hide the sculpted muscle underneath. I took an appreciative look at him, letting my gaze sweep over him before I met his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m here,” I replied, my voice steady despite the inner turmoil. “Just thinking about what to do next.”

“Big plans?” There was a hint of amusement in his tone, but his gaze never wavered, sharp as ever.

“You have no idea,” I shot back, unwilling to give away my true intentions.

“Thought you were starving,” Nathan teased, breaking the tension as he approached with a playful glint in his dark eyes. “And here I find you lost in thought instead of racing to the kitchen.”

I turned from the mirror and struggled to keep my face neutral, despite the soreness reminding me of the sex we’d just had. “Just give me a moment,” I managed.

“Sure thing,” he chuckled, closing the distance between us. His hand found my thigh in a familiar gesture that might have been affectionate in any other context. The sudden squeeze sent a ripple of laughter through me, edged with a wince as the tenderness in my body protested. I nearly lost my balance, catching myself on the vanity.

“Easy there,” he said, steadying me with an ease that suggested he’d done it a thousand times before. “Once you’re over how good you look, I’ll be waiting for you in the kitchen. Those groceries won’t unpack themselves.”

“Your domestic skills are truly astounding,” I quipped, finding solace in the banter.

“Only the best for you,” he replied with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

As he left, I took a deep breath, trying to settle the dissonance within me. It was wild how normal, domestic even, these moments with Nathan felt—silly almost. But then I glanced at the lush greenery that filled the room. Plants, just like those in the rest of the house.

The Serpent’s Fang, they called him. I had spent days piecing together the persona: cold, ruthless, a harbinger of death lurking in the shadows of San Francisco’s criminal underworld. And yet, here he was, tending to groceries like any other man.

His reputation painted him as merciless. Each hit he executed on Triad enemies was a message carved in blood, a brutal reminder of the order he enforced. And while the world knew him as a killer, only I knew the man who could spend hours discussing the fragile beauty of an orchid.

This dichotomy was the armor he wore—the scales of the serpent that both protected and threatened. And as much as I tried to deny it, I couldn’t help but want to peel back every layer, to understand the enigma that was Nathan Zhou.

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